Michael Cullen must be super pissed off this morning. It was bad enough that last year's backspin blooper buggered his Budget and almost cost Labour the election. This year's 'boring' Budget was all set to drop jaws and someone went and stole his thunder. Whomever leaked the cabinet papers should feel very worried. It won't be a golden handshake, more a smiteful thunderbolt.
(Originally posted 4/5/06)
Sunday, July 02, 2006
A death in the family
An old girlfriend, Miss Machete, just texted me to say that my first cat, Rorschach passed away at home on Monday. RIP, dude.
(Originally posted 3/5/06)
(Originally posted 3/5/06)
Sweetest Thing
Just get back in the door after having a squizz at Labour HQ in Fraser House, and lo and behold David Cunliffe has announced the best news in yonks. Local (and sub-) loop unbundling and infrastructure investment in fibre, etc is bloody great.
I can't understand all the bitching going on over at DPF's. Telecom and its shareholders have had ample time to anticipate something along these lines. Labour have foreshadowed this for months. Like a steamroller accident in an Austin Powers movie, I have no sympathy for short-term speculators caught on the spot. Long-term investors have little to fear. This kick in the pants is just what Telecom needed to change its zero-sum mentality.
(Originally posted 3/5/06)
I can't understand all the bitching going on over at DPF's. Telecom and its shareholders have had ample time to anticipate something along these lines. Labour have foreshadowed this for months. Like a steamroller accident in an Austin Powers movie, I have no sympathy for short-term speculators caught on the spot. Long-term investors have little to fear. This kick in the pants is just what Telecom needed to change its zero-sum mentality.
(Originally posted 3/5/06)
Misuse of Misuse of Drugs Act
It hasn't taken long for the knee-jerk idiocy of the Misuse of Drugs Amendment (No 3) to start pissing off the twinset and pearls brigade. Winter is imminent and a slow parade of depressions mope across the islands. The sniffles have started, leaky nose syndrome. Down the chemists, the wrinklies are lining up for their favourite brands only to get ID'd, as Rosemary McLeod found out.
There will be many harmless old biddies around the country, frightened by everything from driving instructors to rap music, who will simply stop buying their Coldrex or Codral. Some will die or, if they're really lucky, end up on a hospital waiting list. Nice going, narrow-minded prohibitionist morons. I've half a mind to go live in Mexico, where small amounts of marijuana, cocaine, peyote and LSD are no longer a criminal offence.
(Originally posted 30/4/06)
There will be many harmless old biddies around the country, frightened by everything from driving instructors to rap music, who will simply stop buying their Coldrex or Codral. Some will die or, if they're really lucky, end up on a hospital waiting list. Nice going, narrow-minded prohibitionist morons. I've half a mind to go live in Mexico, where small amounts of marijuana, cocaine, peyote and LSD are no longer a criminal offence.
(Originally posted 30/4/06)
No smoke, no fire
The Companies Office has come to the bottom of the matters surrounding David Parker with precision and transparency. Laziness as opposed to criminality, by an Official Assignee and not David Parker, completely clears this honourable member. Here's expecting Mr Parker back in the Attorney General's job pronto and good on him too. He has acted the gentleman throughout the procedings.
Lacking a shred of evidence to back up Investigate's conspiracy theory, not even a prima facie case as Idiot/Savant points out, opposition attacks on the matter are just blowing dirt.
(Originally posted 26/4/06)
Lacking a shred of evidence to back up Investigate's conspiracy theory, not even a prima facie case as Idiot/Savant points out, opposition attacks on the matter are just blowing dirt.
(Originally posted 26/4/06)
Hemingway woz here
Gareth Morgan has escaped the sychophantic sob-stories brought on by his $30 million Act of Random Kindness. His first entry on the Backblocks of America tour sees him shacking up in a posh-pit run by a US tax outlaw and getting feedback about the change in NZ's tax on overseas investments.
(Originally posted 26/4/06)
(Originally posted 26/4/06)
Rates rise favours property elite
Wellington City Council looks set to do a John Banks. According to the Capital Times, the Council's Long Term Community Plan wants to double the Uniform Targeted Rates and continue moving the rates burden from business to residential properties. Both measures benefit the breadheads at the expense of the penniless.
Uniform charges are a lazy and haphazard way to spread sewerage and water costs. Even leftie Deputy Mayor Alick Shaw favours a user-pays system over this all-you-can-flush plan. Why should small bungalows pay disproportionately more than the palatial mansions of Kelburn and Karori? Do all those apartments going up around the town have a secluded one acre section to irrigate, a driveway to wash down the SUV on Sunday mornings?
Mayor Kerry Prendergast, happily married to the incredibly rich property owner/ developer Rex Nichols, continues her inexorable agenda to push the rates differential onto householders. What started out as a 7:1 ratio of business to residential split in 2000 looks set to become 4.4:1 next year, with a 'goal' of 2.8:1 by 2010. Eastern Ward's Leonie Gill belabours the obvious with the observation that businesses can make up some of their rates bill in ways residents cannot. What she mean, 'some'?
Both the Uniform Charge and the rates differential demonstrate the Council's desire to out-price the riff-raff and poor people, forcing them into the New Jersey of Lower Hutt, the Brooklyn of Porirua, or the Alabama of Tawa. This is no different from the selling of Council housing and UAGC charges that saw Banks' reign wipe out a whole central city subculture. It's daylight snobbery.
(Originally posted 25/4/06)
Uniform charges are a lazy and haphazard way to spread sewerage and water costs. Even leftie Deputy Mayor Alick Shaw favours a user-pays system over this all-you-can-flush plan. Why should small bungalows pay disproportionately more than the palatial mansions of Kelburn and Karori? Do all those apartments going up around the town have a secluded one acre section to irrigate, a driveway to wash down the SUV on Sunday mornings?
Mayor Kerry Prendergast, happily married to the incredibly rich property owner/ developer Rex Nichols, continues her inexorable agenda to push the rates differential onto householders. What started out as a 7:1 ratio of business to residential split in 2000 looks set to become 4.4:1 next year, with a 'goal' of 2.8:1 by 2010. Eastern Ward's Leonie Gill belabours the obvious with the observation that businesses can make up some of their rates bill in ways residents cannot. What she mean, 'some'?
Both the Uniform Charge and the rates differential demonstrate the Council's desire to out-price the riff-raff and poor people, forcing them into the New Jersey of Lower Hutt, the Brooklyn of Porirua, or the Alabama of Tawa. This is no different from the selling of Council housing and UAGC charges that saw Banks' reign wipe out a whole central city subculture. It's daylight snobbery.
(Originally posted 25/4/06)
Bad vibrations
Although the bible says nothing about vibrators, it hasn't stopped the South Carolina Jesus freaks from trying to ban "devices used primarily for sexual stimulation" (Tip DPF). Such a stupid law will be and should be as ignored as the anti-bong laws put forward by the Nats (and put in law by Labour) back here in the late '90s:
"That's not a vibrator, officer. That's a personal massager! Oh no, they aren't Ben-Wa balls, officer. They're Chinese healing balls. You roll them in your hands and feel better. Give 'em a go. That whip's for beating the servants with."
Some of my favourite webcam girls are based in the Deep South and I'd hate to see them without their tools of the trade. In case anyone's forgotten how useful these toys are, refresh your memory with The D Song video.
(Originally posted 24/4/06)
"That's not a vibrator, officer. That's a personal massager! Oh no, they aren't Ben-Wa balls, officer. They're Chinese healing balls. You roll them in your hands and feel better. Give 'em a go. That whip's for beating the servants with."
Some of my favourite webcam girls are based in the Deep South and I'd hate to see them without their tools of the trade. In case anyone's forgotten how useful these toys are, refresh your memory with The D Song video.
(Originally posted 24/4/06)
There can be only one (male co-leader)
There's one simple thing about the Green co-leader battle. It's age and guile vs. youth, inexperience and a bad haircut. Forget about Dave Clendon and Mike Ward. They are there only to fill the ranks. Expect one or both of them to drop out before judgement day. Hanging around any longer in the race risks damaging party stability. This is between Russel Norman and Nandor Tanczos, and my money's on Nandor. I know I'm betting against Chris Trotter and most other commentators, but I'll choose an underdog over the favourite any day.
Fortunately for the Greens, there is precedent for them to go off. The leadership scrap in Act showed how not to do things. Like the Greens, Act believe (or at least used to believe) in direct democracy. The primary race, while good on paper and ideologically sound, is a dangerous thing for a niche party to do in practise. I re-joined Act when it became clear that Prebs was standing down. Like most Act members, I had made up my mind who to vote for way before the big day. I joined so I could vote for Rodney and keep Stephen Franks and the Rabids from taking over.
I went along to a Meet the Candidates meeting anyway, just to be certain of my decision. Speaking order was very fairly decided by random ballot. One by one, the four contenders stood at the podium and gave absolutely no clue why they would be the best leader for Act. Oh yeah, everyone got the blurbs, the CVs, the former glories. Staying true to Act's core values was mentioned more often than the principles of the Treaty of Waitangi are mentioned in statutes. The meetings didn't change a thing. They only provided media fodder to highlight rifts in Act.
If Rodney hadn't won the leadership, Act would not be in parliament now. Neither Franks nor Shirley had the visibility to sell the party at the election and neither had a shit show of winning an electorate. It's a stern lesson which the Greens would do well to learn from. Jeanette Fitzsimons has implied that Russel is her preferred co-leader, in much the same way Roger Douglas not so subtly backed Stephen Franks a few years back. While Norman has enough gingervitus to rekindle the likes of the late Rod Donald, he lacks the experience and depth of a parliament-hardened Tanczos.
Norman may be trawling for numbers around the grassroots circuit but it's popular visibility that counts in a leadership contest. The ability to bring out the warm and fuzzies does not translate as a party-saver and that's precisely what the Greens need to survive 2008 without Rod Donald. You can say many things about Nandor, but being invisible isn't one of them. He has long since put away his skateboard and grown into leadership potential this term. He has confounded Winston Peters on his home turf in the House and gained respect for his grasp of IT issues. His open and forthright views on the Corrections department left quite a few people looking at him with new respect.
Nandor shows no signs of slowing down either. In contrast to the Act leadership debacle, he has a policy platform and is not afraid to stand up for it. Calling the Greens Labour's lapdog last election is about as unequivocal as you can get. Strategically, this is a damned good platform. The Greens haven't got an electorate to hold firm with, so repositioning the Greens nearer the centre means a wider target market. It would allow, for example, the Greens to steal the BlueGreens vote from the Nats. It would also mitigate the scary watermelon factor that keeps otherwise keen voters offside.
Announcing this platform also leaves Norman little room to manoeuvre. He too wishes to distance the Greens from Labour but Nandor has already marked out the best territory. Norman's got nowhere to go but hard left, a sure sign for defeat next election. Matt McCarten's not promoting Unite out of altruism. He is setting them up to run in 2008, as DPF kindly points out. Vernon Small reckons that Norman will focus on the Social Justice ticket, which will be a hard row to hoe considering Nandor's the spokesperson for Restorative Justice. With six weeks to go before the final vote, I expect we'll be seeing a whole lot more action plan from the Rastaman.
Speaking of which, derisive comments on Nandor's dreads are practically a non-sequitur these days. Dr Sharples doesn't lose any mana from his mullet, since what comes out his mouth makes too much sense to squander on superficial trivialities. Meantime, Russel Norman seems quite keen on GE (goatee eradication):
Finally, and I'm a republican not a nationalist, but I don't think an Oz dude who has been in the country less than 10 years should be a party leader. While Nandor is a Brit-born Hungarian, at least he spent most of his childhood here. I reckon you've got to acclimatise to this country a while before you can start bossing everyone about. 10 years does not cut it.
(Originally posted 23/4/06)
Anyways, I must be off. I've got to go book my seat at the Greens Conference in Silverstream over Queens Birthday weekend.
Fortunately for the Greens, there is precedent for them to go off. The leadership scrap in Act showed how not to do things. Like the Greens, Act believe (or at least used to believe) in direct democracy. The primary race, while good on paper and ideologically sound, is a dangerous thing for a niche party to do in practise. I re-joined Act when it became clear that Prebs was standing down. Like most Act members, I had made up my mind who to vote for way before the big day. I joined so I could vote for Rodney and keep Stephen Franks and the Rabids from taking over.
I went along to a Meet the Candidates meeting anyway, just to be certain of my decision. Speaking order was very fairly decided by random ballot. One by one, the four contenders stood at the podium and gave absolutely no clue why they would be the best leader for Act. Oh yeah, everyone got the blurbs, the CVs, the former glories. Staying true to Act's core values was mentioned more often than the principles of the Treaty of Waitangi are mentioned in statutes. The meetings didn't change a thing. They only provided media fodder to highlight rifts in Act.
If Rodney hadn't won the leadership, Act would not be in parliament now. Neither Franks nor Shirley had the visibility to sell the party at the election and neither had a shit show of winning an electorate. It's a stern lesson which the Greens would do well to learn from. Jeanette Fitzsimons has implied that Russel is her preferred co-leader, in much the same way Roger Douglas not so subtly backed Stephen Franks a few years back. While Norman has enough gingervitus to rekindle the likes of the late Rod Donald, he lacks the experience and depth of a parliament-hardened Tanczos.
Norman may be trawling for numbers around the grassroots circuit but it's popular visibility that counts in a leadership contest. The ability to bring out the warm and fuzzies does not translate as a party-saver and that's precisely what the Greens need to survive 2008 without Rod Donald. You can say many things about Nandor, but being invisible isn't one of them. He has long since put away his skateboard and grown into leadership potential this term. He has confounded Winston Peters on his home turf in the House and gained respect for his grasp of IT issues. His open and forthright views on the Corrections department left quite a few people looking at him with new respect.
Nandor shows no signs of slowing down either. In contrast to the Act leadership debacle, he has a policy platform and is not afraid to stand up for it. Calling the Greens Labour's lapdog last election is about as unequivocal as you can get. Strategically, this is a damned good platform. The Greens haven't got an electorate to hold firm with, so repositioning the Greens nearer the centre means a wider target market. It would allow, for example, the Greens to steal the BlueGreens vote from the Nats. It would also mitigate the scary watermelon factor that keeps otherwise keen voters offside.
Announcing this platform also leaves Norman little room to manoeuvre. He too wishes to distance the Greens from Labour but Nandor has already marked out the best territory. Norman's got nowhere to go but hard left, a sure sign for defeat next election. Matt McCarten's not promoting Unite out of altruism. He is setting them up to run in 2008, as DPF kindly points out. Vernon Small reckons that Norman will focus on the Social Justice ticket, which will be a hard row to hoe considering Nandor's the spokesperson for Restorative Justice. With six weeks to go before the final vote, I expect we'll be seeing a whole lot more action plan from the Rastaman.
Speaking of which, derisive comments on Nandor's dreads are practically a non-sequitur these days. Dr Sharples doesn't lose any mana from his mullet, since what comes out his mouth makes too much sense to squander on superficial trivialities. Meantime, Russel Norman seems quite keen on GE (goatee eradication):
Finally, and I'm a republican not a nationalist, but I don't think an Oz dude who has been in the country less than 10 years should be a party leader. While Nandor is a Brit-born Hungarian, at least he spent most of his childhood here. I reckon you've got to acclimatise to this country a while before you can start bossing everyone about. 10 years does not cut it.
(Originally posted 23/4/06)
Anyways, I must be off. I've got to go book my seat at the Greens Conference in Silverstream over Queens Birthday weekend.
Key to the cookie jar
Thank you Rod Donald for lobbying so hard for MPs to disclose their pecuniary interests. The results are truly interesting. It's just a pity the full story is hidden under another onion skin of family trusts. Here's a top 5 of hypocritical bullshitters.
5. Taito Field for numerous housing projects which excludes the Apia shack-up (Tip DPF).
4. Chairman Jim, for having shares in a foreign-owned bank. Splitting hairs on bankers' shares does not wear.
3. Alleged Muslim MP Ashraf Choudary's stake inSin City Sky City
2. The Honourable David Carter is a shareholder of CanWest (them of the liberal TV3 channel), 42 Below (homegrown vodka), Sky City (gambling), and meat & wool products. This guy actively supports hedonism, even though his voting record says it's monkey say not monkey do.
1. John Key's mortgage on the Wellington apartment. How much debt is owing on this property and how does that compare with the $16,000 of taxpayer money heading his way? I bet you Mr Key got out his little calculator and worked it out to the nearest cent. The biggest rort since Hobbs and Bunkle, and at least they weren't as loaded as he is.
(Originally posted 9/4/06)
5. Taito Field for numerous housing projects which excludes the Apia shack-up (Tip DPF).
4. Chairman Jim, for having shares in a foreign-owned bank. Splitting hairs on bankers' shares does not wear.
3. Alleged Muslim MP Ashraf Choudary's stake in
2. The Honourable David Carter is a shareholder of CanWest (them of the liberal TV3 channel), 42 Below (homegrown vodka), Sky City (gambling), and meat & wool products. This guy actively supports hedonism, even though his voting record says it's monkey say not monkey do.
1. John Key's mortgage on the Wellington apartment. How much debt is owing on this property and how does that compare with the $16,000 of taxpayer money heading his way? I bet you Mr Key got out his little calculator and worked it out to the nearest cent. The biggest rort since Hobbs and Bunkle, and at least they weren't as loaded as he is.
(Originally posted 9/4/06)
Supression, repression, depression, expression
The grumble of thunder has passed overhead, blue skies emerging as if nothing ever happened.
About five haircuts ago, October 15 2004 to be precise, I wrote of the nature of being kiwi had a lot to do with the weather. I started the blog as a means to further define in my own fuzzy way what it means to be here and now. Unfortunately, I got distracted. My bad. Thing is, there is such a thing as kiwi. In this, the last place to be inhabited by people, geographically isolated with the firm, undisputed border of our fractal coastlines. We carve a place for ourselves here and the place carves us in return.
Kiwis are at home in both light and shadow. Sam Neill's Cinema of Unease puts the point nicely. Neill's debut in Sleeping Dogs, ending with him doing the finger to authority, is a prime example of Kiwiness (It's all the more poignant now after Sam Neill, winemaker, addressed the Labour party conference last year). Tim Finn sang of Dirty Creatures and Leaky Boats. Fuck knows what Colin MacCahon was on about, but it wasn't Disney.
With this is mind, as well as the upcoming ANZAC Day, it was a good time to unveil the excellent Paul Dibble memorial sculpture destined for Hyde Park. At first I thought it was a mimic of the anti-tank defences used on the beaches. Then the crosses at the top were shown, raw and bright. The distinct totems on each beam. Respect.
My brother, Randy Gonzales, sent me a copy of Dad's memoir notes for my birthday. In Trev's words:
"My Father William Leo de Cleene volunteered for the NZ Rifle Brigade and was grievously wounded by shell fire near the town of Ypres. Mary and he married when he was discharged from the army on a pension. He slept with a loaded rifle beside his bed to repel possible dawn assualts. I think that it has always been difficult for those who have not suffered in the horrors of war to appreciate the influence it had on those who survived it. "Pop" only rarely spoke of his experiences but such was his "shellshock" he became drunk on little alcohol. A few beers and he was away. His body had holes where the shrapnel had gone in and much of it stayed there.I am quite sure they in there own way loved each other. I never saw my Mother and Father embrace - hold hands or display emotions publicly."
It's eerie to compare with my own upbringing. Dad slept with a loaded Luger under the pillow and, later, he upgraded to a minimum-length pump action shotgun under the bed. Like Pop, he was waiting for a dawn raid that never came. Well, there was that one time...
On an aside, Dad's Mum smoked like a chimney. At the hospital where she was slowly dying of cancer, she was disappointed Dad had bought her chocolates and not a pouch of tobacco. All the ashtrays in the family vehicles were full of live .22 rounds, the glovebox crammed with 12 gauge cartridges. No way anyone smoked in Dad's car. Trev was a supporter of ASH way before recovering alcoholic Mark Peck became director of the Smokefree Coalition. It's amazing the ingenuity that goes into the transference of rage. Back to Trev:
"Pop put me on his bike and took me to the Pub where I would sit on the Bar and drink raspberry and lemonade while he drank beer with his mates. "Don't tell your Mother." Mary de Cleene was a "pointer" when it came to flushing Pop out of the Pub. He would take his bike inside the bar but she would still find him and drag him out. We would all bike home.
"When he did cut loose and she could not find him, she would lock him out and he would sleep on the floor of the wash house with its concrete tub and copper. Despite the arguments over it he never hit her.
"I was in the kitchen with Mum one night when I was about 12 years of age and Pop came home to the locked door and attacked it with the axe. She opened the door - took the axe off him and locked him back out. Such was his conscience on the morrow that he would do the lawns, the garden, the house - you name it. About a month later it would happen again.
"On the night of the axe incident, she nagged him in that kitchen while he was in a drunken state. I have always told my Clients in later life not to disagree with their men when the men are drunk. Give it to them in the morning when they have got a sore head and a conscience. On this occasion Pop, completely exasperated, raised his hand to his wife Mary. She just stood there and looked at him. "Bill de Cleene," she said, "You are drunk and you will go to sleep. You hit me and I will boil a kettle and pour it over your balls!"
My mother didn't have Mary's personality and didn't have the skills to put up with my father's shit. She couldn't keep his rages in check. After the divorce, Dad used to take us three kids to the Te Puna Tavern. We'd sit in the Range Rover drinking raspberry lemonades while Dad sat in the pub talking to his mates. One time Randy and my sister, well on her way to becoming Uptight Rodriguez, convinced me to go in and ask Dad when we were leaving. He marched me out the door and kicked me across the carpark while his mates pissed themselves laughing.
There are many out there with similar tales to tell. Good on Taika Cohen for Two Cars, One Night. Donna Awatere-Huata's dad, Lt Col Arapeta Huata, blew a man's brains onto the ceiling after WWII. The wars fought so long ago are still fought today. Which is why I tend to agree with Gregory Fortuin's stance about the reporting of suicide. Everyone knows about it but we just don't want to talk about it. If we don't talk about it, the theory goes, it'll go away on its own. That's what the MPs reckon anyway. Just like the Misuse of Drugs Act, everything is just fine.
By all odds, I shouldn't be here. Apart from the phenomenal odds against my being born in the first place, I have almost got myself killed in one way or another on many occasions. That time in Brisbane, standing on the Storey Bridge weighing up hope and despair. Overtaking that truck on the loose gravel, almost flipping the van into the path of an oncoming truck. Boo-hooing over Emily in high school. That time when I was 11, fearing for my life when we were stranded on a boat off Kapiti Island with next to no provisions and Joe Walding, a man medically diagnosed as being addicted to food. I have since found a new respect for old people, because they are not yet dead.
The freedom to leave is of great comfort. Let kiwis go abroad if they so wish. Matter of fact, I'd make it complusory. None of this military training crap, boot em out for a couple of years to get a real education. Put them on the ground with Volunteers Services Abroad. Give them ten grand and a one-way ticket to London or Mumbai. Earn big money as a guinea pig. Work in Dubai, earn shitloads of cash, then come back here and be your own boss. That's one way to do it.
(Originally posted 9/4/06)
About five haircuts ago, October 15 2004 to be precise, I wrote of the nature of being kiwi had a lot to do with the weather. I started the blog as a means to further define in my own fuzzy way what it means to be here and now. Unfortunately, I got distracted. My bad. Thing is, there is such a thing as kiwi. In this, the last place to be inhabited by people, geographically isolated with the firm, undisputed border of our fractal coastlines. We carve a place for ourselves here and the place carves us in return.
Kiwis are at home in both light and shadow. Sam Neill's Cinema of Unease puts the point nicely. Neill's debut in Sleeping Dogs, ending with him doing the finger to authority, is a prime example of Kiwiness (It's all the more poignant now after Sam Neill, winemaker, addressed the Labour party conference last year). Tim Finn sang of Dirty Creatures and Leaky Boats. Fuck knows what Colin MacCahon was on about, but it wasn't Disney.
With this is mind, as well as the upcoming ANZAC Day, it was a good time to unveil the excellent Paul Dibble memorial sculpture destined for Hyde Park. At first I thought it was a mimic of the anti-tank defences used on the beaches. Then the crosses at the top were shown, raw and bright. The distinct totems on each beam. Respect.
My brother, Randy Gonzales, sent me a copy of Dad's memoir notes for my birthday. In Trev's words:
"My Father William Leo de Cleene volunteered for the NZ Rifle Brigade and was grievously wounded by shell fire near the town of Ypres. Mary and he married when he was discharged from the army on a pension. He slept with a loaded rifle beside his bed to repel possible dawn assualts. I think that it has always been difficult for those who have not suffered in the horrors of war to appreciate the influence it had on those who survived it. "Pop" only rarely spoke of his experiences but such was his "shellshock" he became drunk on little alcohol. A few beers and he was away. His body had holes where the shrapnel had gone in and much of it stayed there.I am quite sure they in there own way loved each other. I never saw my Mother and Father embrace - hold hands or display emotions publicly."
It's eerie to compare with my own upbringing. Dad slept with a loaded Luger under the pillow and, later, he upgraded to a minimum-length pump action shotgun under the bed. Like Pop, he was waiting for a dawn raid that never came. Well, there was that one time...
On an aside, Dad's Mum smoked like a chimney. At the hospital where she was slowly dying of cancer, she was disappointed Dad had bought her chocolates and not a pouch of tobacco. All the ashtrays in the family vehicles were full of live .22 rounds, the glovebox crammed with 12 gauge cartridges. No way anyone smoked in Dad's car. Trev was a supporter of ASH way before recovering alcoholic Mark Peck became director of the Smokefree Coalition. It's amazing the ingenuity that goes into the transference of rage. Back to Trev:
"Pop put me on his bike and took me to the Pub where I would sit on the Bar and drink raspberry and lemonade while he drank beer with his mates. "Don't tell your Mother." Mary de Cleene was a "pointer" when it came to flushing Pop out of the Pub. He would take his bike inside the bar but she would still find him and drag him out. We would all bike home.
"When he did cut loose and she could not find him, she would lock him out and he would sleep on the floor of the wash house with its concrete tub and copper. Despite the arguments over it he never hit her.
"I was in the kitchen with Mum one night when I was about 12 years of age and Pop came home to the locked door and attacked it with the axe. She opened the door - took the axe off him and locked him back out. Such was his conscience on the morrow that he would do the lawns, the garden, the house - you name it. About a month later it would happen again.
"On the night of the axe incident, she nagged him in that kitchen while he was in a drunken state. I have always told my Clients in later life not to disagree with their men when the men are drunk. Give it to them in the morning when they have got a sore head and a conscience. On this occasion Pop, completely exasperated, raised his hand to his wife Mary. She just stood there and looked at him. "Bill de Cleene," she said, "You are drunk and you will go to sleep. You hit me and I will boil a kettle and pour it over your balls!"
My mother didn't have Mary's personality and didn't have the skills to put up with my father's shit. She couldn't keep his rages in check. After the divorce, Dad used to take us three kids to the Te Puna Tavern. We'd sit in the Range Rover drinking raspberry lemonades while Dad sat in the pub talking to his mates. One time Randy and my sister, well on her way to becoming Uptight Rodriguez, convinced me to go in and ask Dad when we were leaving. He marched me out the door and kicked me across the carpark while his mates pissed themselves laughing.
There are many out there with similar tales to tell. Good on Taika Cohen for Two Cars, One Night. Donna Awatere-Huata's dad, Lt Col Arapeta Huata, blew a man's brains onto the ceiling after WWII. The wars fought so long ago are still fought today. Which is why I tend to agree with Gregory Fortuin's stance about the reporting of suicide. Everyone knows about it but we just don't want to talk about it. If we don't talk about it, the theory goes, it'll go away on its own. That's what the MPs reckon anyway. Just like the Misuse of Drugs Act, everything is just fine.
By all odds, I shouldn't be here. Apart from the phenomenal odds against my being born in the first place, I have almost got myself killed in one way or another on many occasions. That time in Brisbane, standing on the Storey Bridge weighing up hope and despair. Overtaking that truck on the loose gravel, almost flipping the van into the path of an oncoming truck. Boo-hooing over Emily in high school. That time when I was 11, fearing for my life when we were stranded on a boat off Kapiti Island with next to no provisions and Joe Walding, a man medically diagnosed as being addicted to food. I have since found a new respect for old people, because they are not yet dead.
The freedom to leave is of great comfort. Let kiwis go abroad if they so wish. Matter of fact, I'd make it complusory. None of this military training crap, boot em out for a couple of years to get a real education. Put them on the ground with Volunteers Services Abroad. Give them ten grand and a one-way ticket to London or Mumbai. Earn big money as a guinea pig. Work in Dubai, earn shitloads of cash, then come back here and be your own boss. That's one way to do it.
(Originally posted 9/4/06)
I am a goat
I got my sign name confirmed today. I am 'goat'. Quite apt I reckon. Beats being a troll. The third reading of the NZSL Official Language thing is up in parliament this Thursday after Question Time. It's one of those times where living over the hill and round the bend from parliament really pays off. It'll be good to see this cruise through. For those with access to fraudband, you can witness this via webcast here. I only hope Rodney and Heather change their minds and make it unanimous. Heather's speech for the second reading was unconvincing.
Nice to hear about Gerry's childhood all those years ago. Here's one which is a bit more recent. I spent a lot of time at Nana's house as a child. Nana learned to lipread as a younger woman, even though she had perfect hearing at the time. It is a skill that has proved useful and I'm glad she passed it on to me. However, at the time I was learning all sorts of interesting things like tying my shoelaces. This was just another thing to learn. Nana knew lipreading, therefore everyone knew lipreading. I listened with my eyes as well as my ears in class, just like everybody else did (I assumed). I sat near the front, not because of teacher's pet but so I could see Mrs Gledhill's lips more clearly. I'd be pulled out of class to mope off to the school speech therapy office. They told me to go and I went. I didn't mind because there was a good library there. The Lorax was my favourite. I couldn't say my "shhhh"s and "rrrrr"s like everyone else could. I spent hours spanning years there. My "shhh"s cleared up and the "rrr"s got less worse. Then I changed schools and the whole thing ended.
The first time I first remember something was seriously up was at boarding school, talking to Mum on the phone. I tried putting the phone to my left ear for a change and found Mum's voice much crisper. So this ear was better than that ear. Oh well then. I adapted. Left ear with the phone then. I developed a habit of tilting my head to the right when listening to people or walking on the right of friends or family.
I began experimenting. A few times, I set my shiny new digital watch's alarm to go off in class, in attempts to train myself to hear what others could hear. Bit by bit I worked out I was completely deaf to high frequencies, mainly through classmates' frowns and the teacher threatening to confiscate my watch. It all makes so much sense now. No wonder I did better on the right wing in team sports. I could hear the whistle, barely registering in my right ear, slightly more often with my left. It was just a shame when there was more than one game on. I'd stop play to the neighbouring games' whistle or play on after the ref has blown a breathalyser's worth in ours. I wasn't much of a team player.
As far as I knew, NZ Sign Language did not exist. All forms of signing were actively discouraged in schools until 1979. If Deaf were to communicate with Norms, they must lipread. The exclusive doctrine was Oralism uber alles, a policy dictated exclusively by the Norms. No wonder we have 51,000 lipreaders. It was the only form of communication allowed by the authorities. I put this down solely to that Bwitish stiff upper lip bullshit that dictated that colonists should not move their hands while talking. Everyone must adapt to our way because we are civilised. For evidence of this legacy, look around in a pub or cafe and you'll see what I mean. English people don't gesticulate as much as most others. Look at the Samoan or the Italian.
Deaf people signed anyway, because it was the most natural way for them to communicate. NZSL survived underground, away from teachers and other authority figures. In spite of the best efforts to eradicate it, it endured. According to the 2001 Disability survey, from which Heather quotes, 7700 adults use NZSL. There are roughly sixty translators nationwide to help them, or 1:128 odds. Not good, if you want to get out of the ghetto. Perhaps some of those 51,000 lipreaders might find greater sophistication of communication with NZSL. Judging from the hordes of Norms jumping to learn it at Vic and AUT, I'd say there's plenty of support for them out there. So funding's not a problem. We have the skills.
Nor should NZSL be classified as a non-English language group, unless you want to patronise the fuck out of those 51,000 sympathetic lipreaders, let alone the 7,700 NZSL voters. Mandarin is an official language somewhere. NZSL, at least until the GG gets her hands on it soon, isn't. Making NZSL an official language will certainly raise the profile and legitimacy of this language. One has only to witness the rennaissance of Te Reo since its official recognition in the 80s. Referring to Gestuno is like raising Esperanto as a serious alternative to Kiwi English. What's Gestuno for haka, mate? Language is localised one way or another. It evolves.
Finally, it's a matter of principle. Of all things, I had hoped that Act would vote for it on principle. Act, the party of new ideas and innovation thinks the British or Oz policy is better. Act, the liberal party supporting diversity and little battlers by denying this little thing. If you read it, all it says is that NZSL will be recognised by the courts and that "government services and information should be made accessible to the Deaf community through the use of appropriate means (including the use of NZSL)." Not a biggie. It's a bummer to say this, but it is just one more sad reason that Act deserves to be fortress Epsom.
Here's to shit-stirring autists while we're at it. We reserve the right to be slightly strange.
(Originally posted 4/4/06)
Nice to hear about Gerry's childhood all those years ago. Here's one which is a bit more recent. I spent a lot of time at Nana's house as a child. Nana learned to lipread as a younger woman, even though she had perfect hearing at the time. It is a skill that has proved useful and I'm glad she passed it on to me. However, at the time I was learning all sorts of interesting things like tying my shoelaces. This was just another thing to learn. Nana knew lipreading, therefore everyone knew lipreading. I listened with my eyes as well as my ears in class, just like everybody else did (I assumed). I sat near the front, not because of teacher's pet but so I could see Mrs Gledhill's lips more clearly. I'd be pulled out of class to mope off to the school speech therapy office. They told me to go and I went. I didn't mind because there was a good library there. The Lorax was my favourite. I couldn't say my "shhhh"s and "rrrrr"s like everyone else could. I spent hours spanning years there. My "shhh"s cleared up and the "rrr"s got less worse. Then I changed schools and the whole thing ended.
The first time I first remember something was seriously up was at boarding school, talking to Mum on the phone. I tried putting the phone to my left ear for a change and found Mum's voice much crisper. So this ear was better than that ear. Oh well then. I adapted. Left ear with the phone then. I developed a habit of tilting my head to the right when listening to people or walking on the right of friends or family.
I began experimenting. A few times, I set my shiny new digital watch's alarm to go off in class, in attempts to train myself to hear what others could hear. Bit by bit I worked out I was completely deaf to high frequencies, mainly through classmates' frowns and the teacher threatening to confiscate my watch. It all makes so much sense now. No wonder I did better on the right wing in team sports. I could hear the whistle, barely registering in my right ear, slightly more often with my left. It was just a shame when there was more than one game on. I'd stop play to the neighbouring games' whistle or play on after the ref has blown a breathalyser's worth in ours. I wasn't much of a team player.
As far as I knew, NZ Sign Language did not exist. All forms of signing were actively discouraged in schools until 1979. If Deaf were to communicate with Norms, they must lipread. The exclusive doctrine was Oralism uber alles, a policy dictated exclusively by the Norms. No wonder we have 51,000 lipreaders. It was the only form of communication allowed by the authorities. I put this down solely to that Bwitish stiff upper lip bullshit that dictated that colonists should not move their hands while talking. Everyone must adapt to our way because we are civilised. For evidence of this legacy, look around in a pub or cafe and you'll see what I mean. English people don't gesticulate as much as most others. Look at the Samoan or the Italian.
Deaf people signed anyway, because it was the most natural way for them to communicate. NZSL survived underground, away from teachers and other authority figures. In spite of the best efforts to eradicate it, it endured. According to the 2001 Disability survey, from which Heather quotes, 7700 adults use NZSL. There are roughly sixty translators nationwide to help them, or 1:128 odds. Not good, if you want to get out of the ghetto. Perhaps some of those 51,000 lipreaders might find greater sophistication of communication with NZSL. Judging from the hordes of Norms jumping to learn it at Vic and AUT, I'd say there's plenty of support for them out there. So funding's not a problem. We have the skills.
Nor should NZSL be classified as a non-English language group, unless you want to patronise the fuck out of those 51,000 sympathetic lipreaders, let alone the 7,700 NZSL voters. Mandarin is an official language somewhere. NZSL, at least until the GG gets her hands on it soon, isn't. Making NZSL an official language will certainly raise the profile and legitimacy of this language. One has only to witness the rennaissance of Te Reo since its official recognition in the 80s. Referring to Gestuno is like raising Esperanto as a serious alternative to Kiwi English. What's Gestuno for haka, mate? Language is localised one way or another. It evolves.
Finally, it's a matter of principle. Of all things, I had hoped that Act would vote for it on principle. Act, the party of new ideas and innovation thinks the British or Oz policy is better. Act, the liberal party supporting diversity and little battlers by denying this little thing. If you read it, all it says is that NZSL will be recognised by the courts and that "government services and information should be made accessible to the Deaf community through the use of appropriate means (including the use of NZSL)." Not a biggie. It's a bummer to say this, but it is just one more sad reason that Act deserves to be fortress Epsom.
Here's to shit-stirring autists while we're at it. We reserve the right to be slightly strange.
(Originally posted 4/4/06)
The incompetent leading the blind
Orkland City Council's helpful intersection safety team have laid tiles that point blind pedestrians into the path of oncoming traffic. A "significant" number of the city's 3400 intersections will have to get ripped up, including the three year old Britomart transport hub, at between $3 - 10k a pop. Thanks, Banks. It happened under your watch.
This nicely exemplifies a couple of problems I had with living in Orkland. Firstly, the city is not so much pedestrian-unfriendly as pedestrian-homicidal. Secondly, I got sick of paying rates to a bunch of twits who try to Make Things Better by Making Things Much Worse.
(Originally posted 31/3/06)
This nicely exemplifies a couple of problems I had with living in Orkland. Firstly, the city is not so much pedestrian-unfriendly as pedestrian-homicidal. Secondly, I got sick of paying rates to a bunch of twits who try to Make Things Better by Making Things Much Worse.
(Originally posted 31/3/06)
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